"I think we might have different ideas about how to defuse a situation," Ruth says, the trace of amusement in her voice chased by Danae's muffled snort. Triss tightens her arms over her head and pulls her feet up onto the chair, ankles tucked in, knees jammed under the table. The grown ups are talking, low and urgent, and sure that's better than yelling but not by much. Maybe she needs to be defused, disarmed, whatever. Why'd they ever give her more stuff, why'd they have to make her even more dangerous?
When she reaches down with that inner inhale and touches the iron lump in her belly, the blue lines spring back to life. Even with her eyes shut, even with her face pressed against wood and shadowed by her arms, she can still see the potential to lash out. Lash in?
Triss goes rigid as an uncooked noodle, and about as brittle, when Hannibal puts his arm around her shoulder. Her hand clenches into a tight fist beneath his and her breath catches, stops. Part of her wants to slip out from under his hold, duck under the table and make a dash for the stairs. Once her bedroom door closes behind her, she won't have to talk to anybody. She can wait until the iron 'passes' or whatever. The other part wants to curl into the comfort he's offering and cry some more. Her eyes are already so hot and dry, and everything else is itchy; her tongue, the bandages and tape, even the whole-but-unwashed skin that got a dunking in the harbor.
Neither's really an option. She can't run away from something inside her, and this is only the fourth hug of any kind she can remember getting into with Hannibal. Bad enough she was clinging to him in front of other people earlier, she can't cry all over him too. She might refuse that part of herself to him over and over, but Triss tries so hard not to be a crybaby about the scary stuff. About this stuff.
Lacking any good choices, she stays still and makes a low noise that might be a 'no' or a 'don't', but is definitely a negative.
"Not all of them are dangerous, either," Argus says. The pronoun's so weird and disconnected that Triss blinks against the table. "Different metals have different effects, many of them can't hurt anybody."
That at least gets her to lift her face, though her nose, mouth and chin remain hidden behind the circle of her arms. "Like...like what?"
"Like detecting magic, if someone's using it or if they have an object of power nearby," Argus' smile doesn't reach his eyes, those're still worried and tired looking, but she doesn't think he's lying. Hannibal doesn't react at all, his arm around her doesn't tighten in warning, and Triss knows he can always catch a lie. "That's what I do."
The other two don't look like they think Argus is lying, either. Ruth's eyebrows are all pinched in worry, and Danae's staring at the back of his head like she kinda wishes he'd stop talking, but that could have more to do with Triss' track record for pitching fits than anything. She watches them all in silence for a moment, squinting around those hot and itchy eyes, and lets herself lean into Hannibal a little. "You think I could?"
"It's very unusual for people like us to be able to use more than one kind of, uh, metal magic," he nods, "But I'd like to see if you can."
"Argus," Danae hisses, "Don't be stupid, the odds..."
"A kelpie didn't just come for her," Argus snaps, which is new enough that Triss flinches against Hannibal, "It did it under our own noses. The Courts know who we are, they know our territory and they still made this play. So I think," he takes a breath and lets it out through his nose, smiles a half-smile at her again, "I think you're probably very unusual, Triss. I'd like it if you'd try this, but you don't have to. We can come back later if you're done for the day."
"And if it's all right with you and your father," Ruth adds. Triss catches her rolling her eyes toward the ceiling as if searching for patience, and that's a lot like one of her old social workers, too. Though she doesn't smile, Triss does slowly uncurl and sit back up into Hannibal's arm.
"O-okay," she swallows, licks her lips and tries to expand, because it's important to let people know why you're doing things, even if it's something they want you to do. "If...if I can see magic, I want to. Then they can't sneak up on me again, right?"
"It's very helpful for that, yeah," instead of revealing a neat wrist strap like Danae's (or Hannibal's), Argus just reaches into his pocket and pulls out another vial. The flakes inside are a little lighter, maybe, but otherwise it's identical to the swallow of Iron. "Don't worry if this doesn't do anything. That's a lot more normal, for us."
That's two 'us'es in as many minutes. Triss wonders about that as she pops the cork, darts a quick look at Hannibal, and tries to swallow down the contents as quick as she can. She even rubs at her throat to help it go faster.
A third knot trickles into place in her belly, like warm sand filling the bottom of an hourglass. She doesn't even stop to poke at it or ask what she's meant to do, not this time, she just breathes in and lets the air stir up the grains, feels it rush up behind her eyes just like the Iron, but when she opens her eyes--
"Oh," Triss gasps. Or gawks. Across from her, Argus is surrounded with a soft sunset light, kinda rusty and gold all at once. Ruth, next to him, is a deeper and truer red, glowing low and steady under her skin and running in flaming lines up her torso and down her arms. Danae's a sapphire blue, and her eyes blaze with it. Even stranger are the trails that waft behind them, Danae's blue and Argus' sandy red trailing back into the foyer like smoke. Ruth leaves no traces, she's just exactly where she is.
Half the books piled on the table between them glow with different jewel colors - turquoise and emerald and topaz and amethyst. Stranger still, those same colors are dusted over Hannibal's hand, where it lays beside hers on the table.
"You didn't say it'd be pretty!" she says, and it's totally an accusation. Argus laughs, but it's not the quietly happy laugh when she'd lit up the Iron earlier, it's a little sharp. Ruth takes a long, slow breath, her eyes very large behind the warm rosy glow.
And Danae says, "Jesus H. Fucking Chris, you've gotta be shitting me right now."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2016-06-08 04:33 am (UTC)When she reaches down with that inner inhale and touches the iron lump in her belly, the blue lines spring back to life. Even with her eyes shut, even with her face pressed against wood and shadowed by her arms, she can still see the potential to lash out. Lash in?
Triss goes rigid as an uncooked noodle, and about as brittle, when Hannibal puts his arm around her shoulder. Her hand clenches into a tight fist beneath his and her breath catches, stops. Part of her wants to slip out from under his hold, duck under the table and make a dash for the stairs. Once her bedroom door closes behind her, she won't have to talk to anybody. She can wait until the iron 'passes' or whatever. The other part wants to curl into the comfort he's offering and cry some more. Her eyes are already so hot and dry, and everything else is itchy; her tongue, the bandages and tape, even the whole-but-unwashed skin that got a dunking in the harbor.
Neither's really an option. She can't run away from something inside her, and this is only the fourth hug of any kind she can remember getting into with Hannibal. Bad enough she was clinging to him in front of other people earlier, she can't cry all over him too. She might refuse that part of herself to him over and over, but Triss tries so hard not to be a crybaby about the scary stuff. About this stuff.
Lacking any good choices, she stays still and makes a low noise that might be a 'no' or a 'don't', but is definitely a negative.
"Not all of them are dangerous, either," Argus says. The pronoun's so weird and disconnected that Triss blinks against the table. "Different metals have different effects, many of them can't hurt anybody."
That at least gets her to lift her face, though her nose, mouth and chin remain hidden behind the circle of her arms. "Like...like what?"
"Like detecting magic, if someone's using it or if they have an object of power nearby," Argus' smile doesn't reach his eyes, those're still worried and tired looking, but she doesn't think he's lying. Hannibal doesn't react at all, his arm around her doesn't tighten in warning, and Triss knows he can always catch a lie. "That's what I do."
The other two don't look like they think Argus is lying, either. Ruth's eyebrows are all pinched in worry, and Danae's staring at the back of his head like she kinda wishes he'd stop talking, but that could have more to do with Triss' track record for pitching fits than anything. She watches them all in silence for a moment, squinting around those hot and itchy eyes, and lets herself lean into Hannibal a little. "You think I could?"
"It's very unusual for people like us to be able to use more than one kind of, uh, metal magic," he nods, "But I'd like to see if you can."
"Argus," Danae hisses, "Don't be stupid, the odds..."
"A kelpie didn't just come for her," Argus snaps, which is new enough that Triss flinches against Hannibal, "It did it under our own noses. The Courts know who we are, they know our territory and they still made this play. So I think," he takes a breath and lets it out through his nose, smiles a half-smile at her again, "I think you're probably very unusual, Triss. I'd like it if you'd try this, but you don't have to. We can come back later if you're done for the day."
"And if it's all right with you and your father," Ruth adds. Triss catches her rolling her eyes toward the ceiling as if searching for patience, and that's a lot like one of her old social workers, too. Though she doesn't smile, Triss does slowly uncurl and sit back up into Hannibal's arm.
"O-okay," she swallows, licks her lips and tries to expand, because it's important to let people know why you're doing things, even if it's something they want you to do. "If...if I can see magic, I want to. Then they can't sneak up on me again, right?"
"It's very helpful for that, yeah," instead of revealing a neat wrist strap like Danae's (or Hannibal's), Argus just reaches into his pocket and pulls out another vial. The flakes inside are a little lighter, maybe, but otherwise it's identical to the swallow of Iron. "Don't worry if this doesn't do anything. That's a lot more normal, for us."
That's two 'us'es in as many minutes. Triss wonders about that as she pops the cork, darts a quick look at Hannibal, and tries to swallow down the contents as quick as she can. She even rubs at her throat to help it go faster.
A third knot trickles into place in her belly, like warm sand filling the bottom of an hourglass. She doesn't even stop to poke at it or ask what she's meant to do, not this time, she just breathes in and lets the air stir up the grains, feels it rush up behind her eyes just like the Iron, but when she opens her eyes--
"Oh," Triss gasps. Or gawks. Across from her, Argus is surrounded with a soft sunset light, kinda rusty and gold all at once. Ruth, next to him, is a deeper and truer red, glowing low and steady under her skin and running in flaming lines up her torso and down her arms. Danae's a sapphire blue, and her eyes blaze with it. Even stranger are the trails that waft behind them, Danae's blue and Argus' sandy red trailing back into the foyer like smoke. Ruth leaves no traces, she's just exactly where she is.
Half the books piled on the table between them glow with different jewel colors - turquoise and emerald and topaz and amethyst. Stranger still, those same colors are dusted over Hannibal's hand, where it lays beside hers on the table.
"You didn't say it'd be pretty!" she says, and it's totally an accusation. Argus laughs, but it's not the quietly happy laugh when she'd lit up the Iron earlier, it's a little sharp. Ruth takes a long, slow breath, her eyes very large behind the warm rosy glow.
And Danae says, "Jesus H. Fucking Chris, you've gotta be shitting me right now."